<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Finally by Himitsu_no</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038842">Finally</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himitsu_no/pseuds/Himitsu_no'>Himitsu_no</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Is Please Read Me an acceptable tag?, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Sort Of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:28:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himitsu_no/pseuds/Himitsu_no</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Aziraphale”, he said, and nothing else. </p>
<p>Crowley was quick, he thought - or perhaps he himself was too slow, moving in this limbo like a dying man dancing in thick water. He was still trying to pull air into his lungs when his back slid against a wall. Warm hands on his face, breath like lukewarm coffee on his lips. “Aziraphale”, and he couldn’t stop shivering.</p>
<p>“Y-Yes?”</p>
<p>“It’s just a name, I know”, and his tongue licked his dry lips, “no one else has it, though. And yet… I’ve said it a million times.”</p>
<p>“A m-million? But we didn’t even-“</p>
<p>“Oh, not to you. Not to you, Angel.”</p>
<p>“O-oh? T-to Hell, then?”</p>
<p>It didn’t matter. His knees were wobbly and it didn’t matter. Whatever Crowley said, nothing could-</p>
<p>“Of course not, are you blind?” he scoffed, no snark in his voice. It was heavy with something else.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A fanart of several kisses with the word "finally" repeated prompted this and I hope it's alright :)<br/>Don't get your hopes up for something saucier than what it says on the tin, y'all.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They strolled the busy streets of post-Notpocalypse London in quiet company. Cars honked a mile away from a minor accident and birds chirped on trees but somehow none of the things happening in their surroundings were noticed by either, immersed as they seemed to be.</p>
<p>Aziraphale, in particular, fiddled with his ring and pulled at his vest every other minute. It may be quiet between them, but his head was filled with noise.</p>
<p>“Something the matter?”, Crowley asked.</p>
<p>There was a nervous sigh and he stopped mid-stride, in the middle of the sidewalk. People swarmed impatiently on their sides like a river around a rock, and though no clocks stopped in that pocket of reality, nothing around them was ever seen by either. They were, in a way, in their time-stopped world again. </p>
<p>“I just…”</p>
<p>“Yes?...”</p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>It was frustrating how he couldn’t put the words together and even more that Crowley couldn’t pick up on it. Of course, how could he? He didn’t say anything, do anything, give him any hints. Okay, that’s okay, that’s perfectly fine. Just a deep, human breath. And another. </p>
<p>“I-“</p>
<p>Where to start?</p>
<p>“If you’re not hungry we can go later, I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>He almost laughed. He was, he thinks, but then he wasn’t, because there was this tight, heavy thing in his stomach that-</p>
<p>First he thought how ironic it was they were leaving a garden together again. And then how they’d be together from then on, in the sense that they were… what? Two unemployed assholes with nothing else to do but blabber away in wine bottles and feed ducks and do whatever they wanted? Well, assholes was perhaps too strongly-worded, <em>although</em>, their superiors would hardly spare them harsher terms. Former superiors, at that. Former employers, and they weren’t that good ever to begin with, but Heaven and Hell aren’t known for simply firing- though Heaven surely- ah, anyway, yes, nothing else to do, and their own side. So he supposed they would… Well, nothing so different, really, from what they’d been doing for the past eleven years, except now they really were unemployed. Not in a human way, that would be worse, of course. Or maybe not, but he wasn’t about to philosophize about this particular scenario while more pressing matters constricted his throat.</p>
<p>Not that they were so pressing.</p>
<p>They did have eternity. He supposed. Oh no, what if- what if they <em>didn’t</em>? What if-</p>
<p>“Angel? You heard anything I said?”</p>
<p>“What?? Oh, sorry, what- I beg your pardon, what did-“</p>
<p>“Nothing important. Hey, it’s alright”, he mumbled as he extended his hand to hold his wrist. Aziraphale was sure he would be able to feel his pulse even through his sleeves, it was mortifying. Crowley gently tugged and moved them closer to a shop window, away from the grumbling pedestrians.</p>
<p>“Would you like to go somewhere else? We can go back to the park if it’ll make you feel b-“</p>
<p>“I-“</p>
<p>Crowley waited.</p>
<p>“I said terrible things to you.”</p>
<p>There was a beat in which he didn’t reply. Two, three.</p>
<p>“You did. But it’s alright now. I don’t- I won’t hold them against you.”</p>
<p>“No, no. I mean, yes, don’t. Please don’t. It’s just… I go about things the wrong way sometimes.”</p>
<p>Crowley smirked, and that bastard was too goddamn charming.</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked away half a minute of staring later, embarrassed. He meant to fiddle some more when he realized the demon was still holding his arm. And upon realizing it, too, let go.</p>
<p>“I mean- I- I want to apologize. To you. For the things I said.”</p>
<p>“Is that what got you so worked up all of a sudden?? Don’t mind it, Angel, all’s forgotten.”</p>
<p>Exhale. Short, quick breaths. Hitching in his throat.  “It isn’t. Not- Not really.”</p>
<p>Crowley cocked his head and waited.</p>
<p>“You.”</p>
<p>“Me?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You.”</p>
<p>Exhale. Long elaborate breath. If would be merciful if any of his trouble breathing went unnoticed, but just as highly unlikely.</p>
<p>Crowley tried to guess, but if he were truly honest, he would smile. There was something nervous and bright, the birth of a supernova in his chest. He would play along for Aziraphale’s sake, he thought, when he just really hoped not to be wrong this one time.</p>
<p>“Me? Am I… the trouble or the solution?”</p>
<p>An uneasy smile. “Both, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Crowley smirked. “I see.”</p>
<p>“Don’t laugh.”</p>
<p>“Not laughing.”</p>
<p>“But you are!”</p>
<p>Crowley smiled, and it was like swallowing burning coal. </p>
<p>“You can’t laugh.”</p>
<p>“I won’t. I wouldn’t. Angel, I…” he shook his head and removed his sunglasses, disappearing them into the aether.</p>
<p>Aziraphale held his breath. The cars stopped honking and people stopped cursing and started yelling – <em>finally!</em> Finally they would get somewhere.</p>
<p>The cars, I mean. The road was clearing up. Finally they would get there.</p>
<p>The cars, I mean.</p>
<p>But they couldn’t hear them, only barely registered, finally!, someone shouted distantly.</p>
<p>So Aziraphale held his breath while Crowley said, “I have not ever said I like your name, have I?”</p>
<p>“What??”</p>
<p>It was definitely not what he had expected to hear – not that he <em>knew</em> what he expected to hear, which is a blatant and fat lie, or at least – he knew what he <em>wanted</em> to hear, and this was not it.</p>
<p>“You know… I really, <em>really</em> like the sound of your name.”</p>
<p>And Aziraphale deflated some, calmed some, was entirely disappointed in some good measure. But confused, mostly.</p>
<p>And before he could make sense of any of it, Crowley was in his personal space, his hands on his back in an awkward first embrace. Just scrawny limbs wrapped in elegant fabric around his arms and a warmth on his back and liquid fire in his guts and that voice in the shell of his ear.</p>
<p>“Aziraphale”, he said, and nothing else. </p>
<p>Crowley was quick, he thought - or perhaps he himself was too slow, moving in this limbo like a dying man dancing in thick water. He was still trying to pull air into his lungs when his back slid against a wall. Warm hands on his face, breath like lukewarm coffee on his lips. “Aziraphale”, and he couldn’t stop shivering.</p>
<p>“Y-Yes?”</p>
<p>“It’s just a name, I know”, and his tongue licked his dry lips, “no one else has it, though. And yet… I’ve said it a <em>million</em> times.”</p>
<p>“A m-million? But we didn’t even-“</p>
<p>“Oh, not to you. Not to you, Angel.”</p>
<p>“O-oh? T-to Hell, then?”</p>
<p>It didn’t matter. His knees were wobbly and it didn’t matter. Whatever Crowley said, nothing could-</p>
<p>“Of course not, are you blind?” he scoffed, no snark in his voice. It was heavy with something else.</p>
<p>“I… I don’t…”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>A pause, and his eyes closed on their own. </p>
<p>“I could swallow you whole right now”, Crowley thought. “This alright?” is what he whispered.</p>
<p>The human body is a funny thing, the way it moves unprompted at times. Something written in our bones to shield us from danger and we shrivel into position to protect the softer bits of ourselves: our hearts and our brains and our guts. Our hearts, and our brains, and our guts.</p>
<p>Angels in human forms are subject to the same laws of physiology, and their hearts, and their brains and their guts. Something written in his bones shut the blinds and pushed him forward, a siren urged him to step up. His heart and his brain and his gut.</p>
<p>It surprised Crowley in the most delicious of ways when Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him just as he was about to. His eyes blinked to certify that, yes, it was the angel pushing his lips awkwardly against his, two fluttering smudges of white-blond eyelashes over scarlet skin. </p>
<p>Crowley moved his lips too, not quite sure how any of this worked. First kisses were, by default, awkward and much too eager – a dance you don’t quite know the steps to, a choreography that lacks finesse. None of it mattered. </p>
<p>There was the bittersweet taste of endless wait and the smell of longing, a nose pressed into his face. Hairs tickled his forehead, a shy grip on his elbows. Everything about it was amateur and undemonic, and he was unrelentingly besotted. He couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet and absolutely nothing else mattered.</p>
<p>Crowley smiled against him, parting lips and sliding his tongue in just in time to meet Aziraphale’s. There were small, pleased sounds in the atoms between them, and their bodies found their own dance. Crowley’s hands moved to his neck, a thumb nudging his chin wider, and Aziraphale’s soft fingers pressed at the demon’s hips, finding skin and chasing it. There was a gasp and a slender leg nested between soft, plump thighs, a hitch of breath.</p>
<p>“Is this alright?”, the demon whispered from the tip of a tongue against another.</p>
<p>Aziraphale nodded.</p>
<p>It was very alright. </p>
<p><em>Finally</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>help I can't stop</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He couldn’t remember smiling this much in his entire existence combined.</p><p> </p><p>Didn’t even know he could, if he were completely honest – he’d seen humans do it, how pathetic they looked. He got a kick out of their stupid besotted faces bumping into electricity poles and parked cars and getting tangled in dog leashes and falling into fountains, their heads so far off in the clouds their neuron count must’ve dropped to two for mere survival.</p><p> </p><p>He did bump into someone and spilled hot coffee all over himself and nearly got hit by a double-decker, though. Joke’s on him, God sure was laughing.</p><p> </p><p>Those were some of the more annoying firsts. The other ones were of an entirely different nature.</p><p> </p><p>For example: he was not counting on his clothes smelling of Aziraphale’s cologne, and how he would instinctively turn his head multiple times to sniff his shoulders. It did interesting things to his body, that.</p><p> </p><p>The memory of the first time they held hands after that sordid public display of affection, all still fresh on his skin and lingering on the shoulders and the arms and the entirety of his clothes. He’d seen those disgustingly romantic films, sure, a demon often got bored out of their wits. So yeah, he’d seen the movies, and the Netflix shows and the reruns and… not that he was ever particularly fond of any of those, he was really just completely bored, bored, bored. But yes, he did think things would magically fall into place.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t actually imagine he’d feel so bloody nervous, and how those beautiful thick fingers of the angel’s found fit almost uncomfortably between his slender ones. How some positions felt weird and their arms were awkwardly brushing each other like sharing the narrow space between two seats in a movie theater. It would take a few trials here and there, some embarrassed grins, and finally they would fit perfectly together. Yes, those thick fingers in his and that arm tucked at his elbow and all that ridiculous things in movies that make his stupid stomach flip.</p><p> </p><p>It was a wonder that he behaved so incredibly well at the Ritz, because there was very little focus on his body that day. Yesterday. How has it been an entire day he was snogging Aziraphale and the world hasn’t actually ended? Definitely should’ve tried that millenia ago. Bugger.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale, bless his heart, had the stupidest smile plastered on his blessed sleep-swollen face and lingered somewhere between awake and asleep, or somewhere very close to delusional.</p><p> </p><p>No, he wasn’t high. Nor was he shitface-drunk.</p><p> </p><p>He was merely dozing off and on, for the first time in his long, long life. In the few moments he did spend awake, his sleep-fogged mind registered nothing but the feel of cool satin against bare skin, and the smell of Crowley everywhere. On the sheets, on the pillows, on his shoulders and arms and wrists. He didn’t think that was an actual thing, even if he did see those lovely, lovely films. He loved the idea of romance and daydreamt of the kind of silly things people in the movies said and did. So yes, he’d watched all those brilliant films and the loveliest shows on the telly and sometimes in the theater. Crowley mocked him mercilessly, the idiot.</p><p> </p><p>And then he’d sleep some more.</p><p>And drool. There was a lot of drool.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He woke again when he felt the bed shift slightly and the sheets being rearranged as Crowley crawled back into bed.</p><p> </p><p>His darling lied on his side and faced him, arm tucked under the pillow. A hand rested on his hip, his thumb rubbing circles on his skin.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale smiled lazily. “Hey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi”, Crowley whispered in a bright smile.</p><p> </p><p>He’d rarely seen him smile without sarcasm, and this was a delightful side of his. He smiled genuinely, openly now - a thousand times, and every time he felt his insides melt. It was unbearably cheesy and it was precious.</p><p> </p><p>They’d earned it.</p><p> </p><p>“Where did you go?”</p><p> </p><p>“Buy you breakfast.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale was positive his face would be so tired at the end of this day, he couldn’t stop smiling. If this were a story in a book somewhere, every reader would be rolling their eyes at the excessive sweetness of it all, and rightfully so. But they’d earned it, leave them be.</p><p> </p><p>The angel scooted closer and put his leg over Crowley’s, bringing him closer, and hummed in delight. The feel of his warm skin on Crowley’s colder limbs was new and exciting, and he was discovering he loved every second of these firsts.</p><p> </p><p>The first morning together.</p><p>The first time he fell asleep and woke to his beautiful face.</p><p>The first time he admitted he felt lust, and it was abundant. The first time he acted on it and didn’t think he’d be able to stop. The first time he heard those lovely sounds escape Crowley’s lips, and how he wanted to hear his name over and over and over so many octaves below.</p><p>The first time Crowley entwined their fingers in bed, and how they fit together so perfectly as if they’d been custom-made for the other. Maybe they had been. Perhaps they were.</p><p> </p><p>He lifts his hand and searches for Crowley’s, and they still fit so perfectly. His fingers seem small in his hand and his palm is warm and his smile is bright as day. He raises their hands and sees how the light filters through and the nails shine briefly. And his stretched arm is a beautiful thing, he is a work of art. He looks into liquid gold and they stare back, a love tenfold reflected. He wants to kiss those lips and he revels in the knowledge that he can, so he does, and he does so endlessly.</p><p> </p><p>He kisses and he turns and he is bold and his voice is merely a whisper. And his whispers don’t matter, they only matter for the one drinking them. They’ve earned this, this intimacy, this sunrise in a lavender field. This beauty of a love so pure it can only be spoken in whispers and soft sighs.</p><p> </p><p>If this were a story in a book somewhere, someone would be clutching their chest and smiling, because they would know the truth of it:</p><p> </p><p>They did earn it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thoughts?</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>